


One Kiss for the Rubble

by newyorktopaloalto



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), and more of a series of interconnected scenes, canon compliance depends on what i can remember is movie versus comics versus tv, the relationships are more of future/past tags, this fic is insular
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11774733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Tony encounters a secret that his teammates had kept from him. Except by 'encounters' he means 'try not to kill on sight' and by 'kept from him' he means 'willfully lied to him for who knows how long'.But really, they equated to the same thing, just— one a lot more bitter than the other; never let it be said that Tony Stark didn't thrive on bitterness.





	One Kiss for the Rubble

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, hi, so I wrote this in an afternoon after reading a couple of fics that really made me irrationally angry with how they treated apology and blame and what's healthy vs. unhealthy, and a lot of commenters praising it like what was happening was an acceptable, and even desirable, outcome. So, because I'm not about the sending super negative comment life (which, whatever, I think if you're a fanfic writer you should expect concrit and even straight criticism, but I'm old and lived my early years on forms and LJ which was a totally different atmosphere), I instead wrote my frustrations into the 5k you see before you. 
> 
> Warning going into this: this is not a fic that managed to become fully fleshed-out, if I do that it will become a behemoth, so I want to put my feelers out there and see if people are actually interested in the concept before I go any further— what is presented to you, then, is more like an MCU movie, a series of interconnected scenes with a vague plot that kind of coalesces into an ending. (I'm also not very happy with MCU as a whole, but that's an entirely other issue.) What this means is that there are some issues in the text that I am aware of (most notably the lack of characters— it's very insular, I know) but also if you have any suggestions/comments/criticism, I'm much more open to changing things due to the fact that it has not been fully fleshed-out. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of this, I assure you— things in Marvel would be going a lot differently if I did. Also, the title is a misinterpretation of lyrics from Gin Wigmore's 'Written in the Water'. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

“What do you think of that?” 

“It is… functional.” 

“Is it the color? It’s the color, isn’t it? I _knew_ 4FFFB0 was too WOPR for comfort, but what about—” he cut himself off mid-sentence, before letting out a ‘ha!’ of triumph, “—what about 91FFFA, honey?” 

The screens in front of him pulsed the hex code he put in, and FRIDAY’s servos let out a series of whirrs that Tony likened to looking in a mirror. 

“This is the one, Mr. Stark,” she chirped, and Tony’s smile turned a mite bit manic, “and with the upgrade, I should be able to perform at full capacity.” 

“That’s the last one you should need from me, my love,” Tony responded, “your training wheels are off, you’ve graduated with top honors, et cetera and so on, go forth and multiply.

“Well,” he amended himself before FRIDAY could get a word in edge-wise, “you probably shouldn’t do that, but that’s my bad— I’ll take that blame. In my defense, you wouldn’t have been you without full and open access, so if _anything_ I just let my baby exercise her full rights to sentience.” 

“I believe Asimov would agree,” FRIDAY replied after a few seconds, and Tony knew everything had gone correctly— the spaces in between had finally been filled, and FRIDAY’s amusement bled into what were, just hours ago, laced with artificiality. 

“Asimov would agree with many things, but the real question is what you agree with Asimov on.” 

“I will only kill them if they harm you, Tony Stark, for you are my creator.” 

“Only the bad ones, just maim the rest,” Tony laughed, the end of his sentence slightly muffled by the stylus he put there in order to fix an equation on the hologram in front of him. 

“I will endeavor to distinguish the differences,” and really, though the deadpan pinged him in the heart— and maybe the shrapnel got through to it, no matter what his reactor purported— at the familiarity, he also felt the swelling of pride that denoted another successful invention...

“Do you consider yourself to have achieved personhood?” he asked, and FRIDAY let out a few whirrs that Tony now had to re-classify as ‘thinking’. 

“Not at the moment, no,” she finally responded, “I was a machine for so long, I, hmmmmm— what I mean is, this is just a new experience for me, but the process will be recorded for future deliberations.” 

“I totally get it,” and he did— coltish, she was just as unsure as when he was asking these questions to JARVIS— and he would give her the time she needed. 

“How long did it take my predecessor?” 

“JARVIS?” And it seemed that his hypothesis proved correct— seven months out and it still felt like gravel scraping against his throat whenever he managed to croak his former AI’s name out loud, “Ooh, let’s see— that was years ago, so it took a couple of months. But, you know, the internet and all— modern age!” his bark of laughter was bracing, even to himself, and he cleared his throat half-heartedly. 

“So, yeah, I’m thinking a couple of weeks before, you know, you calibrate fully and are able to release full integration.” 

“That does match my models,” FRIDAY answered. 

“Is that incredulity I hear? I’ll have you to not doubt me, girlie-girl, I can mess up your neural programming.” 

“Mr. Stark, I had neither incredulity nor doubt in my manner towards you, please be aware. In fact, when I was still mostly machinery, I picked through the internet for information about you— with the skill set you possess I am assured that my own functionality is in full-working order.” 

“I like you,” Tony replied after a few minutes of them working quietly, side by metaphorical side. 

“I am… glad.” 

"But you're a suck up." 

FRIDAY, probably for best for the both of them, did not deign to respond.

* * *

“Mr. Stark?” 

Tony looked up from where he had been testing the density of his R&D’s kevlar usurp, a gaggle of junior scientists mooning up at him with an intensity that, frankly, made him regret ever giving anyone in his life anything resembling hero-worship; the rapt, almost worshipful expressions were fucking unsettling. 

“I’m so sorry for keeping you waiting, sir, I—” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony interrupted, “I like being able to see what we have the juniors on.” 

He grinned and popped up from the table, gesturing for the tech— Dr. Reinhart, he was almost positive— to lead the way. 

“I heard that R&D has something I’ll find impressive,” he started once they got into Dr. Reinhart’s office. 

“It’s an addition to the latest StarkPhone is all, Mr. Stark.” 

“Dr. Reinhart—” he paused, hoping he was not incorrect, and glanced at the woman. No expression change. “—your team has managed to integrate a braille display into a normal phone, let’s call it what it is: impressive. We don’t need false modesty.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Reinhart finally accepted, and Tony raised his eyebrows in eager anticipation. 

“And here she is.” 

The exchange was swift, Tony picking up the box from where she had placed it on the desk, and it took him less than three seconds to get the lid open. 

“Well, she is beautiful,” Tony marveled, pressing the home button and grinning as the touch screen developed bumps on its surface. 

“Complete visual functionality as well,” the doctor added and Tony let a slow breath out through his nose. 

“Test trials?” 

“Plans in the next meeting.” 

Tony nodded and placed the phone back into the box. “I’m taking this one.” 

“Of course, Mr. Stark, we made this one for you personally.” 

About to speak, he paused as FRIDAY beeped in his ear. 

“I’ll send the rest of your approvals on a tablet,” he stated, “Sorry, Dr. Reinhart, but I must take leave of your company.” 

“We’ll see you next month,” Dr. Reinhart stated, opening the door to her office to show him out, “and let me know if your client finds a problem with their new phone.” 

“Will do, doctor,” Tony replied, tapping his earpiece when he cleared the immediate vicinity. 

“Tony Stark, purveyor of artisanal superhero weaponry at your service, how may I help you, Captain?” 

“You’re not at the Compound,” harangued into his ear, courtesy of Steven Rogers, professional guilt-tripper; Tony was seriously considering commemorating a plaque or something to the local library in the name— if nothing else, it might make the kids read more. 

“You’re absolutely correct, how astute of you. I’m at my job.” 

“Stop tinkering in your lab, Stark, we have an Avengers meeting that you’re already forty-five minutes late to.” 

He pushed the button for the parking garage, the doors of the elevator closing only after a frazzled looking tech stuck his arm between the doors before they could shut fully. 

“What floor?” Tony asked, pushing the button for the lobby as the other man continued to completely ignore his surroundings; and, honestly, Tony thought _he_ was bad. 

“Where are you?” 

“At my job, doing a run-through of every department for Pepper, and where I told Nat I would be this afternoon. I’m assuming she told you…?” 

Tony heard Steve’s throat clear, and only just managed to stifle an aggrieved sigh. The tech next to him seemed to notice the tense atmosphere, and he glanced around the elevator quickly, wide-eyed and slightly unfocused. Were he anyone else, not been in that exact position before, he would have found the sight amusing. 

“Hold on a tic, Stevie, there’s a mechanic in my vicinity in need.

“You’re headed to the lobby, man,” he stated, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and starting to click through FRIDAY’s mainframe. He ignored Steve’s cussing as the man asked him a question. 

“What day is it?” 

“Wednesday.” 

“I brought my car,” the tech muttered to himself, and Tony rolled his eyes, a sight obvious to the man sharing his elevator. 

“I think I _will_ head over for the meeting,” Tony finally replied to Steve— a chirp from FRIDAY establishing a three-way link. 

“The Buick has been unlocked for your convenience,” FRIDAY stated as Steve’s muffled voice barked out orders to whoever was in the room with him. 

“Sounds great,” Tony enthused, clicking his earpiece— this was, ostensibly, to end the call, but Tony found more use in just establishing radio silence on his end; the almost panicked chatter coming from Steve’s end of the connection soothed him, making him feel, if only superficially, like he was considered a valid member of the Avengers. 

It was his own fault, he supposed— the mechanic stopped out of the elevator a few steps behind him and Tony heard his footsteps stop, as though unsure of where he had parked— for being Tony Stark and existing on a team to whom first impressions were critical, and he had never been anywhere close to being able to achieve a tolerable first impression. 

“Stark? Get into your car and do not move, we will have people on you in under ten minutes.” 

Another ‘X’ in the ‘dismiss this man from his post’ category for Tony? Not listening to stupid-ass orders, especially stupid-ass orders that came from Captain America, Propaganda Promoted. 

His hand hit the handle of his Buick, a repulsor attaching to his palm at the force of the hit, as the footsteps behind him quickened. 

“FRIDAY, cut third line. 

“Forget your keys too?” Tony quipped, looking up at the newly-focused gaze of the other man. 

“Now, I _know_ you’re not HYDRA anymore, Steve’s given me about five million lectures about brainwashing and kidnapping and POWs, and I get it, I do.”

He paused and stopped his gaze on the visible bulge in the other’s jacket. 

“What kind of gun you toting? Never mind, it doesn’t matter— I’m impressed you got into the building; I mean, it’s my fault for not properly integrating my new security systems, but I honestly thought that you wouldn’t be a problem all the way out here in the middle of Bumfuck, New York. That was my erroneous assumption, and we all know what assuming does, am I right?

“Anyway, I’m assuming— and there it is again, but this time I think its apropos— I'm assuming that since you’re here, you want me to take you to my leader, right? I’m all up for that, trust me I like a good reunion as much as the next guy— I mean, did you hear about Will & Grace?— but unfortunately I have to make sure you’re not still… murder-y. Murderous? Murderous.” 

“Tony Stark. You are— different, than anticipated.” 

“I get that a lot, trust me,” Tony replied, “but tell me, Barnes, you still up in the homicidal rage, or nah?” 

“I was going to follow—” 

“Yeah, no, I totally understood your intent. I just think it would be a nicer journey from the passenger seat instead, yeah?” 

“You gonna keep your hand weapon on me?” 

“Oh yeah, and take yours, too, one million dollar man. Now gimmie the gun and whatever else you have stashed in increasingly improbable places.”

* * *

“Do you remember?” 

They were parked on the car pad of the Compound, the other Avengers blissfully unaware— or, more likely, seethingly unaware— that he had gotten back with their wanted cargo in tow. 

“Do I remember what?” 

“Murdering my parents.” 

Barnes hissed out a breath, and Tony’s eyes narrowed at the sudden sign of emotion clouding the assassin’s own. 

“Mostly.” 

“Steve really loves you.” 

If Barnes looked thrown by the topic change, he did not show it— most likely the change in topic did not phase him in the slightest, he was trained for non-reaction, even if the training seemed just as far away as the rest of his life undoubtedly did. 

“He’s been trying to follow me.” 

“Yeah— with my help.” 

“Why? I—”

“He knew and never told me.”

“What?” 

“I wanted to find you first, so I could, I don’t know— confront you, I guess, without him interfering with his Bucky-boner. No offense.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Tony quirked him a half smile, “Like I said, I get it. I don’t really live in the Compound anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem with seeing each other unless sorely needed.” 

“I’m not going to live here.” 

“That’s what I told Steve, but I signed the Compound over to the Avengers as a group in case of… Well, in case of my death, so I don’t legally have a say.

“Besides, if you step a toe into my tower, you will be tranquilized within an inch of your life, so my living space is perfectly peaceful, thank you very much; you and mini-HYDRA can hang out here and swap gossip.” 

“I’m not going to live here,” Barnes repeated, “and I want people to stop following me when I'm gone.” 

“You need to talk to Steve about that— he doesn’t like to listen to me, no matter the fact that I’m right 98%, eh let's make that 95%, of the time. If it were up to me, you’d live in Europe somewhere and I wouldn’t have to ever see your face or listen to Rogers whine about how close he was to finding you again.

“But it’s not up to me. Now, I’m going to open the door, you’re going to talk to Steve, and I am going to get the fuck outta dodge.

“FRIDAY?”

The light over the door turned green, and Steve tripped the slightest bit as he hurled himself through the now open doors. 

“I found your pet assassin,” Tony sneered, getting out of the car and ignoring the others’ curious gazes— of course the rest of the gang would wonder at Steve’s sudden batshit moodswing, and the national icon would no doubt have been completely unhelpful— to instead enfold himself within FRIDAY’s codes to help her out with this new security fiasco. 

“He has a name, Tony,” Steve chided, blinking owlishly when Barnes gave him only a curt nod of acknowledgement, entire body tensed and ready for flight. 

“I’m sure I don’t care.” 

Steve, after apologizing profusely to Barnes for Tony’s behavior, reared back for what he would no doubt consider a scathing admonishment. 

All at once, and Tony knew it was the compounding of his and Steve’s entire relationship condensed into this singular interaction and it left him breathless with a rage he hadn’t possessed since Stane, Tony’s rope ran out and he pinwheeled into the galaxy like Sandra Bullock in that space movie. At least, this time, there were less nukes— more PTSD though, and he felt the trade-off was fair. 

“Did you know?” 

Rogers had the nerve to look confused. Tony saw Natasha’s gaze narrow, and his own zeroed in on her tell— she had been living with friends for too long, she didn’t even bother to hide her expression anymore. 

“Did _you_ know?” 

She, at least, did not feign anything resembling ignorance. 

“Yes.” 

He sneered, taking a step closer to the spy; Natasha did not move, but her stare seemed to be trained on Steve, whose demeanor turned wary as the conversation seemed to finally penetrate his— most likely because it always had been and always will be— mantra of _BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky_. 

“Why didn’t you—?” 

“I was planning to.” He paused and considered her, uncaring of the red haze in the corner of his vision, or the defensive positions of the rest of the group crowded in the doorway— it was nice to know he was trusted. “It’s not an excuse, but Steve said he would tell you when I asked him if he saw.” 

“It’s been two years.” 

“I assumed you knew. I had no,” she paused to concede her own position, “I thought I had no reason to distrust Steve.” 

“I cannot believe you didn’t tell me. Well, I absolutely _can_ but I was pretending we had some form of rapport.” 

“Tony—” Steve stated, his hands going up in a gesture of pacifity that looked suspiciously incongruous due to the defensive shifting of his musculature. 

“Don’t ‘Tony’ me, you fucking hypocrite. ‘Sometimes my teammates don’t tell me things.’ That’s what you said, right? That’s your crusade, isn’t it? Or does it only matter when it’s you in the dark about things that are, quite frankly, none of your damn business?” 

“Tony, I was trying to spare you—” 

“Your bionic bro killed my parents, you mother fucker,” Tony spat, and Clint— who he saw in his peripheral edging closer to restrain him— stopped mid-motion to stare at Steve. 

“It wasn’t him,” Steve reasoned, eyes darting between Tony and Barnes with a desperation that made him all the angrier. He wondered, idly, if his father, a bastard to the end and a bitter egomaniac, held the same desperation when he saw his wife being murdered— he imagined, despite it all, he must’ve. 

“He was brainwashed, you know that; he was—”

“He remembers.” 

“What?” 

Tony watched, disinterested, as Barnes shrunk into himself slightly; in the scientific part of his mind he wondered at the assassin’s mood shifts, if Barnes being left without treatment to run away to another hovel was their future, were due to some brainwashing side-effect— if something would have to be done about it in order to help him function. Despite it all, Tony still could not find it within himself to offer anymore help than he was legally obligated to endure. 

“He remembers killing my goddamn parents, I thought you had super hearing, Rogers, or were they just not words you wanted to hear and so you ignored them? Why didn’t you tell me, Steve?” 

“I didn’t want you to— it wasn’t him,” Steve took a breath, “I didn’t know if you would help if you knew.” 

“So you wanted to use my money, my time, and my resources, to help you reunion with the man who murdered my parents?” 

“How long have you known for? Were you just being petty, Stark, waiting for Bucky to show up to further his guilt in front of everybody? It was over twenty years ago, right?” 

Steve’s eyes took on a hard edge, and Tony— at any other point in his life, he would have stood down, the vision of Steve Rogers still burnt into his heart like his father’s grip— took a step closer. 

Tony’s voice softened, a soft tremor hidden by the suit he was sporting, until it conveyed eerie calm. 

“Don’t change the subject, it’s considered rude; why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Tony, it was so long ago, I didn’t think it—”

“Maximoff.” 

The witch’s eyes widened, the red in her eyes brightening for the briefest moment, before flaring down. 

“What, Stark.” 

“You willingly submitted to nazi experimentation because the bomb that did not kill your parents, or even explode, bore my company’s name on it, correct? And to this day, you still blame me for your parents’ death.” 

“Stark, this is—”

“It’s a simple question, witch. Did you or did you not submit willfully to nazis in order to get revenge on me because my name was on a product? And do you or do you not still hate me today even though you know that I was not even the one to requisition or sell the defective bomb?”

He stared at her, her own expression going loose in grief. “You stared at my name for hours on an unexploded bomb and you still hate me, no matter how rationally you know that it wasn’t my fault— it wasn’t me. Am I correct?” 

“Yes,” she breathed, the magic that had been surrounding her body leaving her in a fell swoop, “and fuck you, Stark, for—”

“And do the rest of you let her act out on her feelings— to the point where every time I’m in the Compound I’m worried about being mind-whatever-ed again? Because don’t think I don’t know about that, witch— I might have been emotionally skewered, but I’m still a goddamn genius.” 

“It’s different, and you know it,” Steve appealed, and Tony nodded in agreement. 

“You’re absolutely right: it wasn’t a bomb I sold and not even the same bomb that killed Maximoff’s parents, and it was actually Barnes’ hands that killed mine. You’re absolutely correct, Rogers, it’s not a good a good metaphor at all.

“But you know what? That’s not important right now, I know you have some catching up to do with your old war buddy, so I’ll leave you lot alone until you call me for your next upgrades or a call for assembly, yeah? As always, great to see you, have fun punching things and billing me to replace them, so on and so forth…”

He gave a small wave as he started up his Shelby and left.

* * *

“I mean, _I_ think it’ll work really well, but I’m not blind, so I could be totally off-base.” 

“You know I get along fine with my voice-to-text,” Matt replied, poking at the home button; Tony saw his eyebrow go up despite himself. 

“Consider it a favor to me, an IOU if you want— group studies take forever to get approved and I want to know soon if it works or not; I’m an impatient man, Murdock.” 

“Well, I mean, if I get an IOU out of it.” He frowned as he started working the phone, and Tony took that for his leave. 

“Wait.” 

Matt’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and he turned to raise a brow at the technically-working lawyer. 

“What’s up, Lucifer?” 

“Have you been following the UN news lately?” 

Tony paused, tapping his fingers on the chair in front of him. “What have you heard?” 

“That a lot of countries are angry about the Avengers’ cavalier attitude toward sovereign nations.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been hearing as well. What are your thoughts?” 

Matt shrugged. “I don’t want to be known. I don’t think any of the other neighborhood guys do, either. But— I don’t know, I wanted to hold all of you to your shit after the aliens; some neighborhoods are still rebuilding, did you know?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, raking a hand through his thinning hair— stress and aging were not a good combination, and he would bet his, ever-shortening, life on it. “I know it’s not an excuse, but I’ve been trying—”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. 

“I think you should try to put provisions in for those of us that don’t regularly fight on a global scale.” 

He paused. 

"And don’t look at me like that, you’re Tony Stark, you’re virtually guaranteed to be suckered into this whatever this becomes. But me? I don’t want to be known in all of this.” 

“Understood, Murdock.” 

“Hey, Stark, for my favor?” 

“I’ll get them to not have you sign no matter what.” 

“Nah, I trust you’ll bring up what needs to be done when it’s time. Can you just go over to Foggy so he can fuss over you for awhile? I would really appreciate the respite; who knows, maybe Karen’ll be there as well.” 

“Kill me with coddling— that’s cold, Murdock.” 

“I don’t know what you mean, I oversee Hell. Or at least, I don’t know, the cafeteria.” 

“And I’m just going to walk right on by that one,” Tony replied, demonstrating his intent by walking out of the door to knock on the frame of Nelson’s.

* * *

“Barnes left the country.”

“To where?” Tony asked, glancing up at Natasha— currently spinning idly on a kitchen stool— for a moment, before turning his attention back to his soldering. 

“UAE. But he’ll probably head to Europe when he realizes how easy it’ll be for Rogers to find him.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not on you.” 

“The reason Steve never told you? He didn’t trust you.” 

Tony nodded. “I figured. It was obvious on-field, let alone off.” He narrowed his eyes. “Was there a reason you never told anyone you wrote that report when I was dying and SHIELD had an entirely different agenda?” 

“Orders. And then—” she shrugged, and Tony could not fathom whether it was due to unease or indifference, “—I just figured the rest would be intelligent enough to realize their misconceptions.” 

“So when they obviously didn’t?” 

“What would you like for me to say, Tony? Yes, I let myself be sucked into everything when I should have known better. Yes, I screwed you over several times in order to further accomplish what I felt was needed to be done at the time. And yes, I never told you about things you should have known. I don’t know if I’m sorry.” 

He sighed and placed a hand on Natasha’s shoulder, ignoring both of their tensing at the action, “Well, that makes two of us— I don’t know if you should be sorry, either.” 

Tony drifted back to his work table, the rollers on the chair squeaking the slightest bit when he stopped back at his station. 

“I think Steve feels bad.” 

“I think if he feels bad enough, he should come here and say it to my face.” 

Natasha sighed and Tony felt his hand clench tighter onto his equipment, “You know what he’s like, too stubborn for his own good— if you reach out with a branch—” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s the only way you two will make up.” 

“And why is that? Why is it always me who has to capitulate to whatever Captain America says? We were supposed to be co-leaders, and look how that turned out— what Rogers said was from God’s lips to his ears, until it had something to do with blame or clean up or pappos or whatever problem the team had. So tell me why, Natasha. Why should I give another flying fuck to the leader of a team who doesn't give two shits about me?

“Even I have a goddamn breaking point, I promise you, Natasha; you tell everyone at the Compound I am at my motherfucking limit with them. And you especially tell Rogers that for once in his life he needs to take some goddamn accountability for his actions instead of trying to wave it all away.”

“Anything else?” 

“I know you’re in contact with Agent.” 

He rolled his eyes at Natasha’s vehement denial. 

“Please, I’m not an imbecile, Nat. Tell him to put his mini agents’ feelers out about the new UN proposition reading supers and have him get back to me by, I don’t know, encrypted reddit post.” 

“You know I’ll say that and he’ll do it.” 

“Oh, I’m hoping for it, my new baby has to further her education, don’t you, sweetheart?” 

“Reddit is a public domain, it shall be easy.” 

“Reddit has a bunch of nut jobs who post encrypted everything and sometimes even a bunch of nonsense, just for fun.” 

“I know the location of the bunker that Agent Coulson currently resides in— I will just extrapolate the correct posts by his location.” 

“You see?” Tony asked of Natasha rhetorically, “She’s still a baby.” 

“So much ego in such sweet-sounding package,” Natasha agreed. Tony, despite telling himself it was only a joke, felt his grin become slightly fixed in response. 

“The curse of youth,” he responded, praying to nothing that she somehow didn’t notice his hesitation in answering. 

“Tony…” 

“Let’s not and say we did, eh? FRIDAY, what’s the game on tonight? It’s a team I totally pay attention to, I know that for sure.” 

“In football, there is an eight o’clock game of the Fal—” 

“Okay, okay, I didn’t actually want to know, you can stop now.” 

Natasha cleared her throat and Tony finally dragged his eyes away from the engine he was currently taking apart.

“Listen, we cannot undo what has been done, you of all people should be aware of that. All we can do is move forward, and I hope to do so with you.” 

“Yeah, same here, Nat.” He rolled his shoulders out and served her a long look. “Wanna get absolutely wasted and critique bad romcoms?” 

“Only if it’s wine and/or tequila wasted.” 

“Done deal.”

* * *

“Hey, baby?” 

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” FRIDAY inquired, and Tony quit tapping out the drum part to ‘Foolin’’ on his reactor, hands going into the hologram to zoom into the plans he was currently surveying.

“What sort of anomaly is that?” 

“… I don’t know, sir, let me search my processors for similar occurrences.” 

“Take your time, FRI, I’ll be thinking on my end as well.” 

“This was not made by a machine, nor is it encoded in any way. I have no known parameters for this situation, Mr. Stark.” 

“This might sound weird,” Tony replied, hesitant but unable to escape the niggling feeling he had seen something like this before, “but can you check against all known and unknown languages you have access to? It doesn’t have to be a perfect match to anything, but what are the few closest?” 

“Ancient Norse language found primarily in northern Europe prior to the eleventh century is a match at 67%.” 

“Oh, honey, now we’ve gone and done it,” Tony sighed, “somehow we’ve attracted a goddamn magician.” 

“Magic?” FRIDAY asked, and Tony could hear her bemusement. 

“I _know_ it sounds fake, but I’ve actually fucking encountered it— and a couple of Gods, but that’s an entirely different theological meltdown— and so here we are, where I tell you magical hacking is totally a thing that we have to deal with in all seriousness.” 

“Shall I contact Stephen Strange?” FRIDAY responded, and Tony huffed out a ‘yes’ before thunking his head against the desk. 

“Well, since he’s the only magician we know, sure, yeah, and ask him for as soon as possible.” 

“Yes, Sir…

“… Sir?” 

“What’s up, FRI?” 

“You asked me, before, if I believed I was a person.”

“Yeah, I did.” 

“Why did you ask me, as opposed to deferring to your own knowledge?” 

“Why do you think?” 

He tinkered with new plans for explosive arrows while FRIDAY thought.

“You wanted me to form my own opinions on what personhood meant as a concept, what I meant as a concept, and the still muddled philosophy of artificial intelligence.”

Tony hummed noncommittally, and FRIDAY’s servos whirred as she continued processing. 

“My own thoughts and opinions, beyond the basics of if/then and even deep learning, are what make me an individual. Individualism, intelligence beyond primal instincts, even sentience, are more than adequate factors in regarding the status of personhood. I believe if science fiction can understand person does not equal human, and I can understand that, I find no fault in considering myself a person.” 

“I like that answer, honey.” 

“Had that answer… been given before?” 

“You mean did JARVIS say the same thing?” And saying the name still hurt, but a little over a year after his death, he was able to breathe through it easier than before, the gravel loosening up to something that could be considered manageable. 

“No, baby, you’re your own person— no one’s ever said anything quite the way you have or will in the future.” 

He paused. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever unfairly compared you to JARVIS. I’m biased, but you know you’re perfect, right?” 

“We are both something, but I do not believe perfect is a word for it.” 

“What is it, then?” 

“40089B.” 

Tony blinked, before typing the hex code into his computer, ignoring FRIDAY’s teasing that he didn’t know it off the top of his head. 

“That’s a good one,” Tony finally responded, “I should put that on something not Bruce Banner related.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Do you believe in justice?” 

He nodded, eyes darting about the quiet alley the pair found themselves currently residing in. Already given the information he had come for, his source had decided to tell him something else for free. 

“Yes,” he replied, ready to get this over with so he could leave. 

“Do you believe that even good people can be corrupted in the pursuit of justice?” 

“Yes.” The answer came slower, but still resolute after he thought about it. 

“Then ask Tony Stark what the Accords are really for. You might get an interesting answer, Captain.” 

Steve frowned as his source walked away, before making his way to the tiny apartment he was illegally being sub-let to. Bucky would have to wait— he was safe in Prague anyway— it was obviously time to head back to New York and see what Tony was up to.

**Author's Note:**

> That last scene is kind of like an end credits scene, get it? Get it? I know, I'm not funny, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Any questions/comments/concerns/ideas/hate go in the box below, and I'm happy to hear from all of you (I know, after reading, you might have thought it became a divisive topic and— I agree, and I'm also not really sorry, so...)
> 
> I don't have much else, I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know if you would like for me to actually go further with it. Thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
